I've been Thinking

Sometimes an idea spreads like a fire in the mind. We even hear it called, literally, ‘The Spark of Inspiration’. But some ideas don’t start as sparks, or twinkles in the eye. They begin as a shadow in a corner of your mind that you try to leave unattended. But as the sun goes down they get longer, bigger, scarier. Sometimes. And when the light’s all gone, they’re everything.

“Jemma,” Lifting my head I pulled one of my earphones out of my ears,

“Just one second Larry,” I said to the face in my screen and I turned to face the man who was addressing me over the top of my cubicle screen. Adrian made a contorted apologetic face and mouthed a “Sorry,” I shook my head and covered my mic.

“What is it?” He held up a printout of an email and whispered, “Have you been interviewed?” I nodded. He raised his eyebrows and stuck out his bottom lip in expectation, rolling his hand in the air like a scale, “Go good, go bad.” I shrugged. It had actually gone very well; my supervisor had seemed impressed and my team leader had given me one of her knowing smiles. The promotion, it seemed, was mine. “Well, good luck,” Adrian said as he turned to leave, “Hope it’s one of us.” The words oozed from his tongue like molten lead and were just as wholesome. I smiled as I uncovered my mic, apologised to Larry and continued our conversation. Neither of us were going to get that job.

At lunch, Adrian was sat with his friends, all male, talking exuberantly about something or other but my eyes wandered to find Julie. I found her, predictably, leaving the canteen as quickly as she possibly could, her face pale and her hands protectively crossed over her body. Adrian’s eyes followed her out the hall, a smile curling the edge of his mouth. He soon returned to his conversation. All suits, ambition, bravado and testosterone. When men talk, it’s always a competition. Who gets the biggest laugh, who tells the darkest joke, who’s the most daring, who work’s the hardest, who’s life is the hardest, who fucks the most who has fucked the most. Most, most, most.

I didn’t feel like talking to anyone today.

Before I left at the end of the day, I stopped by Julie’s desk. She wasn’t there. I wanted to leave a message for her, something about solidarity, or about how I thought she was brave, or that everything was going to be okay now. I decided against all of it in the end and set about my afternoon’s work.

Slipping down to the car park, I hunted down Adrian’s car. A VW saloon with an expensive paint job and gleaming allow wheels. He had parked it, as usual, in the disabled parking area which, thankfully, had no cameras trained on its location. Taking the hammer and four nails that I had stowed in my own boot and carefully hammered one nail into each of his tyres. They each gave a serpentine hiss in protest and I backed away to admire my work. It lolled awkwardly as it sank. Successful I returned the hammer to my car.

There was supposed to be a rush, but I didn’t feel anything. But I had done this, many, many times before in my mind. In its long dark nights, as the sun went down on lude remarks, suggestive looks and. Touching. Back in the office, I haunted Adrian’s cubicle and I made sure that he saw me. That he really saw me. I wanted to make sure I was in his mind. Stain his memory with my picture and let his imagination devour me. He didn’t stand a chance.

I waited till he left. Usually I clocked off at 5 but not tonight. He always finished half an hour later, so he could arrive half an hour later in the morning. I thought I’d want to see his face when he saw his car, watch the confusion turn to frustration then anger at his situation. But I wasn’t, I felt distant. I was just going through motions that I’d done a million times before. I shadowed him down to the carpark but diverted and got into my own little car. I paused for 2 minutes with the engine running then drove around to where he was standing, cursing his car with his hand on the back of his head.

I rolled down my window and asked him what was wrong. “All four tires are down.” He leaned it and looked at them, squeezing them with his hand. As if he knew what he was doing. “Think they’re full of nails,” He stepped back again and reached for his phone. “I’m going to have to get it towed.”

“Well how’re you going to get home?” He looked at me, then around the carpark. There wasn’t anybody else there. “If you want to get in,” I said, silky as possible. “That’s fine.” His face turned from a frown to, what would pass to the unwise for, a cheeky smile. “Did you set this up? Didn’t think you were that keen.”

For a moment then. Just for a moment, I felt a rush. A small twang in my gut as a seed of discord was dropped into my plan. “About as keen as you are stupid,” He open his mouth in mock shock and gave a breathless laugh. “Are you flirting with me or insulting me?”

“Do you want to get home, or do you want to pay for a taxi? I’ll even let you ride for free.” He shook his head disbelieving and made his way round to the passenger door. “Something has gotten into you today.” Little did he know that something had been in me, spreading like black ink into a white carpet for 3 months.

He did up his seatbelt and I pulled away as he dialled a recovery service to come pick his car up the next day. Fortunately, that meant he wasn’t concentrating on the road as I turned out of the business park and out toward the countryside. As he hung up, he sat and stared straight ahead for a while, saying nothing as I drove deeper and deeper into the country. “So, are you taking me home or...?”

“I don’t know. Am I? What do you think?” He gave me a Victorious grin.

“Well my flat isn’t this way.”

“No, it’s not,” I purred back to him, engaging his eyes for a moment as I rounded a bend.

His hand was on my knee for the next mile. That made me angry, but I did not tense. I let it stay there, move up and down as I changed gear. Lead him. Let him think he had control.

Finally, my tire pressure light came on. The nail I’d put into my own tyre before leaving, had clearly only done half a job. “Oh no,” I said, “I’m going to have to stop. Hold on.”

“What’s wrong?” He asked, his hand not leaving my inner thigh.

“Tyre pressure light, need to check it.” I pulled over and got out the car without saying a word and walked around till I got to the front Passenger tyre. I knelt down and pretended to look at it. It was only a matter of time, till he got out the car. “Is there a problem?”

“You’re not going to believe it,” I said aghast, standing up. “There’s a nail in my tyre. It’s going down flat.” I pointed and true as my word, the tyre was losing pressure.

He drew deliberately close to me to examine the tyre. I could smell his aftershave, his scent. I felt like a predator testing the limits of my prey. “Do you have a spare?” I nodded. I’d heard him say this before, in my mind. He went round to the boot and opened it, lifting the carpet and sticking his hand in to pull the wheel out. He hadn’t even asked if I needed help, he’d just started working on it. As if I couldn’t handle it. As if it was his right. I calmly reached under the passenger seat and withdrew the object I had stowed under there. It was hidden in my jacket before he emerged with the jack and tyre from my boot and pushed past me to the passenger wheel. “You’re lucky I was here,” He said grinning. “Good to have a man around wouldn’t you agree?” I said nothing as he knelt to slide the jack under the car.

The next moment played several times as it had done before. It was the moment that I’d been thinking about most in my shadow-mind. Angles, force, velocity. I raised the tyre-iron above my head. A crooked bar of metal and weight. Judgement in my hand, a decision long made with the resolution just a swing away. Black was the path that took me here. Black was the thoughts that put this together. Black was the resolve that hardened my heart. “Have you seen your tyre iron?” He asked.

First there came the rush of air, a whistle of metal in flight, then two sounds. A dull thud, followed by a wet crack. The first blow I delivered downward. The shock ran up my hand and jarred my wrist. Blood speckled my hand and face as I drew my weapon up with a sucking feeling. Then as he tried to rise I swung sideways, into the ear. This time the noise was very metallic, almost musical and he fell to the ground limp. Helpless. Just what I wanted. I wanted him to be prone, just like that. Just like she was. Now I had a choice. I’d made it, but I still had the choice. Anything I wanted to do I could do. This was the height of the depths of the shadows in my mind and I revelled in it.

 My breathing, I noticed, had become rapid and rasping from the effort. But that was the hard work over. Leaving him, bleeding on the ground. I jacked up the car, and removed the faulty tyre. Then, gently, so gently, I positioned his body so that his head was just under the sill of my car. I stood back to check the angle, the position of his limbs, the slackness in his body. Then satisfied I yanked the jack free with a clatter.

The car crashed down like a guillotine, the passenger window smashing with the force. The edge of the bodywork impacted somewhere around the man’s jawline, crushing the skull and forcing matter to burst from the top of his head like a popped blackberry. Blood and pinkish matter pooled from under the chassis, scattered with bits of bone. I breathed again, exhaling slowly. The shadow mind and the black thoughts were sated, and I was.

Changed?

No. I had changed a long time ago.

 I had long decided that this was me. From the moment that I saw Julie’s tear streaked face the day after the Christmas party. That first dark seed walked into the back of my mind like a night thief, stole a morale crutch and replaced it with resolve.

 I placed my weapon carefully into his limp fingers after wiping it clean on his coat collar, then took out my mobile phone, dialled and put it to my ear. “Hello, ambulance please. There’s been an accident.”

I had been thinking about it for a while and now that I’m not thinking about it, the black hasn’t gone. It stained my memory, my thoughts, my words, my decisions my entire being like the blood on that road. I had been thinking about it for a while.

Now I can’t stop.